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Read Online Secrets - [Guardian Trilogy 01] by Liz Schulte - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Liz Schulte
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guy?”
“Holden.”
“Holden?”
“The bar guy’s name is Holden. They’re different looking. Both attractive but in different ways.”
“What did this one look like?”
“Softer, nice, mid-thirties, and dimples.”
“Not bad. Did you get his number?”
“Mom’s waiting.”
Juliet followed me out, shaking her head at my hopelessness, and we headed back to the house to prepare lunch. Mom had invited several of her friends to lunch, along with the poor, unsuspecting Chandler. The three of us moved around the kitchen with ease and everything was coming along nicely when the doorbell rang indicating the first guest’s arrival. I was started towards the door when mom stopped me to smooth down my hair and give my grass green dress a once over, making sure I was still presentable.
“You look very pretty,” she stated with satisfaction. The first couple guests were friends of hers. I made small talk with them and played hostess. The next guest was the dreaded Chandler, and he seemed like a perfectly nice person.
“So, Chandler, how did you get roped into this?”
“What?”
“How did you get invited to lunch? I mean, where’d you meet my mom?”
“Oh, I work at her bank.’
I laughed. Only my mother would invite a random person from her bank over to meet her single daughter. Chandler looked uncomfortable at the notion he had somehow missed the joke. I continued to try to speak with him, but small talk was nearly impossible. He was incapable of giving me anything more than one-word answers. It felt like I was interrogating him.
Finally lunch was served, saving me from further awkward conversations. I grabbed my plate and escaped into the backyard, making my way over to the old swing set in the corner of the yard near some trees. Safely out of the view of the kitchen window, I sat gingerly on the swing and balanced the plate on my lap. Clouds blanketed the sky giving everything a grey tint. The neighborhood was quiet. I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. It was lovely to be alone again after the busy gallery event and then church. . . . I didn’t like crowds.
“Thinking about me?” said a low, increasingly familiar voice. My eyes popped open. Was he really here and not just in my head? Not just my head—Holden occupied the swing next to mine, lounging like he was at a photo shoot with dark sunglasses, designer jeans, and un-tucked black collared shirt open at the neck. A wolfish grin completed his ensemble. He was the picture of someone I should know better than to mess around with.
I should say something clever, or better yet—something devastatingly charming—not just stare at him dumbly, I thought, but of course words failed me. There was a reason why he shouldn’t be here, but for the life of me I couldn’t think of what it was with him in such a close proximity.
“Hi,” I finally said. Yep, out of all the witty, intelligent, flirty things I could have said that was the best I could do. I was so obviously not a pressure player.
“Hi,” Holden repeated quietly, leaning his face closer to mine looking vaguely amused. This intimacy snapped me out of the cloud his presence settled over my senses. Leaning back into my own swing, I moved away from him and frowned. I received the full wattage of his sharp smile, which did strange things to my body.
“What on earth are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
A flush of happiness washed through me, but it felt wrong.
“How did you know where I was?”
“I followed you,” he said so easily and confidently that it took me a moment to remember that wasn’t normal for anyone who wasn’t a stalker—and being a stalker is never a good thing.
“You followed me?”
“What? Twice, I caught you digging through my
subconscious
All I did was follow you to your mother’s house for a little conversation. You tell me which is
“Holden.”
“Holden?”
“The bar guy’s name is Holden. They’re different looking. Both attractive but in different ways.”
“What did this one look like?”
“Softer, nice, mid-thirties, and dimples.”
“Not bad. Did you get his number?”
“Mom’s waiting.”
Juliet followed me out, shaking her head at my hopelessness, and we headed back to the house to prepare lunch. Mom had invited several of her friends to lunch, along with the poor, unsuspecting Chandler. The three of us moved around the kitchen with ease and everything was coming along nicely when the doorbell rang indicating the first guest’s arrival. I was started towards the door when mom stopped me to smooth down my hair and give my grass green dress a once over, making sure I was still presentable.
“You look very pretty,” she stated with satisfaction. The first couple guests were friends of hers. I made small talk with them and played hostess. The next guest was the dreaded Chandler, and he seemed like a perfectly nice person.
“So, Chandler, how did you get roped into this?”
“What?”
“How did you get invited to lunch? I mean, where’d you meet my mom?”
“Oh, I work at her bank.’
I laughed. Only my mother would invite a random person from her bank over to meet her single daughter. Chandler looked uncomfortable at the notion he had somehow missed the joke. I continued to try to speak with him, but small talk was nearly impossible. He was incapable of giving me anything more than one-word answers. It felt like I was interrogating him.
Finally lunch was served, saving me from further awkward conversations. I grabbed my plate and escaped into the backyard, making my way over to the old swing set in the corner of the yard near some trees. Safely out of the view of the kitchen window, I sat gingerly on the swing and balanced the plate on my lap. Clouds blanketed the sky giving everything a grey tint. The neighborhood was quiet. I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. It was lovely to be alone again after the busy gallery event and then church. . . . I didn’t like crowds.
“Thinking about me?” said a low, increasingly familiar voice. My eyes popped open. Was he really here and not just in my head? Not just my head—Holden occupied the swing next to mine, lounging like he was at a photo shoot with dark sunglasses, designer jeans, and un-tucked black collared shirt open at the neck. A wolfish grin completed his ensemble. He was the picture of someone I should know better than to mess around with.
I should say something clever, or better yet—something devastatingly charming—not just stare at him dumbly, I thought, but of course words failed me. There was a reason why he shouldn’t be here, but for the life of me I couldn’t think of what it was with him in such a close proximity.
“Hi,” I finally said. Yep, out of all the witty, intelligent, flirty things I could have said that was the best I could do. I was so obviously not a pressure player.
“Hi,” Holden repeated quietly, leaning his face closer to mine looking vaguely amused. This intimacy snapped me out of the cloud his presence settled over my senses. Leaning back into my own swing, I moved away from him and frowned. I received the full wattage of his sharp smile, which did strange things to my body.
“What on earth are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
A flush of happiness washed through me, but it felt wrong.
“How did you know where I was?”
“I followed you,” he said so easily and confidently that it took me a moment to remember that wasn’t normal for anyone who wasn’t a stalker—and being a stalker is never a good thing.
“You followed me?”
“What? Twice, I caught you digging through my
subconscious
All I did was follow you to your mother’s house for a little conversation. You tell me which is
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